Trust
by Anne Murdoch
Summary: Simon wants to use Blair as bait to catch a violent criminal. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

"He fits the profile perfectly Jim."

Jim's jaw clenched. He didn't want to have this argument right now. Not with Sandburg right outside the door. "I don't care, Simon. He's not a cop. Absolutely not."

"They'll take care of him. I'll get you assigned to the case temporarily so you can personally back him up."

"No. That's final. This is too dangerous. One man's already been killed by this lunatic."

"He'll be safe. Why don't we ask Sandburg and see what he thinks?"

"This doesn't feel right, Simon. Look, you put a young uniform in a wig, and he'll fit the profile too. There is no need for Blair to be involved in this. If he weren't here, Homicide would find a way around it." Why was Simon pushing this so hard? Jim didn't want Blair anywhere near this case.

Simon walked over and pulled open the door. "Sandburg, come in here for a minute please."

"Simon..."

Blair walked into the office, book in hand and glasses on. He was in scholar mode today and had been sitting at Jim's desk studying for most of the morning. Jim thought he looked even more vulnerable this way, and it cemented his determination not to allow his friend to go undercover. "Yes sir?"

"Blair, you've heard about the attacks in Galton Park?"

"Sure, it's all over the news. Gruesome." Blair made an exaggerated shuddering motion.

"Well, it's gone beyond just beatings. You've probably already heard that last night's victim was killed. We're working with Homicide on the case now. One of their detectives was in here yesterday and noticed you. He says you fit the profile perfectly."

"Oh, wow. Thanks for warning me, man."

"They want to use you as bait."

Blair rolled his eyes and moved over to the table, taking a seat and removing his glasses. "I should have seen that coming."

"It's a simple operation. We'll wire you, and you'll have a dozen men backing you up."

Blair looked up at Jim, and the detective saw absolute trust in his friend's eyes.

"Do you think this is OK?"

Jim shook his head adamantly. "Unh-uh."

"Simon, can you guarantee I won't get killed?"

"There are never any guarantees."

"And Jim thinks its a bad idea."

Simon gave Jim a frustrated look. "He doesn't like it."

Jim watched as Blair's survival instincts kicked in. "I'm gonna pass. That guy was messed up pretty bad before he died."

"Yes, but he didn't have the entire Cascade Police Department backing him up."

Blair ran a hand through his hair nervously. "And what if this nutcase decides to ditch the opening festivities and go straight to slitting my throat?"

Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "You don't have to do this, Chief. Captain Jones thought you were a cop. Once we tell him you're not, that'll be the end of it."

"Am I really the only person who can do this?"

Simon was obviously disappointed. "No, you just fit the profile, that's all. But we can try to make someone else fit it."

"OK, then."

"Blair, people are dying. We need your help."

Jim couldn't hold his tongue anymore. "Simon, don't you dare lay this on Blair's shoulders. He's not a cop, you have no right to ask him to do this."

"You're right, Jim. Of course." Simon sat down and began to shuffle papers in irritation, and Jim took the cue to leave. He sensed that Simon was less angry at having Blair turn him down as he was at having lost a battle of wills with Jim. It didn't matter. The attacks in the park had become increasingly brutal, and now they'd resulted in death. The murderer had attacked four young men, knocking them out with chloroform and then moving them to an isolated location in the park, where he had bound them and brutally beat them. Last night, the violence had escalated. They had found victim number four with his throat cut.

Jim could tell by Blair's silence as he sat down at the desk and resumed studying that he felt guilty for turning Simon down. "Good call, Chief."

"Was it?"

"I think so."

"And if more people get killed because I'm a coward?"

"You're not a coward. Simon had no business asking you in the first place."

"Hey, Jim, I _know_ I am, man. Anything that involves pain or possible death, I'm outta there."

"You've never given me any reason to think that, Blair. You were ready to lose a hand to save Maya's life. Christ, you used a baseball to take down a man with a gun. Refusing to enter a situation you aren't trained for is just common sense."

"If you say so."

"I do."

As Blair shrugged and buried his head in his books again, Jim had the distinct feeling that he'd just averted tragedy.

* * *

Blair had been in conflict since the meeting with Simon yesterday. He couldn't reconcile his refusal to help Simon with Jim's declaration that he wasn't a coward. Sure, he had been prepared to have his hand burned with a blow torch rather than tell Gustavo where Maya was, but how long would he have lasted if the old guy had actually followed through on the threat?

People were getting hurt and he was in a position to help. How dangerous could it be? He was certain that if he agreed to do this, Jim would make sure half the Cascade PD was backing him up. And Jim would be there. He'd never let anything happen. But Jim didn't want him to do it. He'd practically begged Blair to drive the rig in the DeLuca case, but he was dead set against this. Why? It had to have something to do with control. That was a big issue with Jim. But in what sense? Was it because he didn't want Simon assigning work to Blair that didn't involve him, or was it because he didn't think he'd be able to control the situation once Blair went undercover, or did he think Blair couldn't handle it? Maybe it was all of the above. But if Jim thought it was too dangerous...

Blair took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He wasn't getting any work done obsessing like this. He got up and went into the living room where Jim had turned on the news and sat down to watch it. It had just started, and the opening story was what he had been dreading.

"...Another man has been murdered in Galton Park. This is the second death in an escalating series of brutal beatings that have taken place in the park over the last week. Cascade Police say they are stepping up their patrols, but urge people not to go into the parks alone after dark. The victim was 22-year-old Rainier University student Patrick..." Jim looked at Blair and quickly flicked off the TV.

"Aw, man. This is my fault." God, another death. What if he could have prevented it?

"No." Jim was shaking his head and clenching his jaw. Why did he look so angry? "No way."

"Yes. I heard Brown say that the person they put in the park struck out. I'm going to do it." The butterflies hit his stomach almost as soon as he said it. He was committed. No turning back now. If he backed out after this, Jim wouldn't have any more doubts about his cowardice.

"No. Look, this isn't your job. I don't want you to do it. It's too dangerous."

"I'm gonna do it, man. I have to. Someone else is going to get killed."

"I'd prefer it if it wasn't you, Chief."

Was it really that dangerous? Of course it was. Oh, god, what had he gotten himself into? "I'll be OK, Jim. You'll back me up, right?"

Jim looked resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to win this argument. "Try and stop me."


	2. Chapter 2

He and Jim had gone to Simon and told him that Blair was willing to help. Blair had noted the icy tone in Jim's voice when he addressed the captain. Something was going on with the two of them. After this was over he'd have to spend some time getting them to work it out. Now he was in the back of a van about two blocks from the park being wired for sound by Captain Jones of Homicide.

"OK, kid, it's simple. We'll hear whatever you say through this wire. Jim here will be able to talk to you through this ear piece. Try not to talk too much, it will look suspicious. We're going to use that idea you got from the movie...here."

"Cool, a neck shield." Blair had seen a movie where Kevin Kline tried to trap a strangler by using his woman friend as bait. He'd given her a plastic neck shield to wear under her clothes to keep her from being choked. He'd figured it would stop a knife, too, and had been surprised when Captain Jones had agreed to use one. Blair still wondered if the man really thought it was a good idea or was just humoring him. All the guys had to have figured out by now that he was scared to death.

The detective attached the collar and pulled Blair's shirt up over it. It wasn't completely hidden, but it was flesh-colored and the park would be dark. "Our killer is going to have a hard time slitting your throat with that on."

"Cool." Blair fidgeted uncomfortably and ran a finger under it, trying not to think about how simple it would be for the killer to take it off, or to stab him in a vital organ.

"Don't be nervous. We've got a dozen men placed at various positions in the park. You won't be more than 50 yards from help at any one time. Try to act natural."

"Yeah, right."

Jim had been in the van with him while the preparations took place. He'd have to leave soon so he could be in place before Blair arrived. "Be careful, partner. If you see anyone, even an old lady, near you, you tell us. OK?"

"Sure Jim. I'll be fine. I've got you backing me up, after all."

Jones led the way out of the van and pointed to an old ten-speed leaning against it. "We'll start a small leak in the tire on your bike. It should go flat when you're in the park. This will make you less suspicious. There haven't been many people coming out here alone since the news reports. You ready, kid?"

"No, but I'll have to be."

Jim put a hand on Blair's arm, and turned him so they were face to face. Jim was decked out in what Blair liked to think of as his ninja-commando outfit. All in black, with a headset and black baseball cap. He didn't look like someone to mess with. Blair felt his tension ease just a tiny bit.

"You can change your mind, Chief. No one will think any less of you."

"I'll think less of me. Besides, it's a little late for that now, don'tcha think Jim?"

"No. Say the word and we go home and pretend this never happened." Jim's eyes were watering, and for a brief second Blair thought it might be from emotion, but then he began to sneeze. "What the hell is it with all that cologne, Chief?"

"Hey, you guys won't be able to lose me if you can smell me from a hundred yards away."

"Yeah, as long as I don't accidentally shoot you during a sneezing fit." Jim pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes and nose. "OK, so you're sure you want to do this?"

"Want to, no. Have to, yes."

"Hey, no..."

"God, you two are worse than me and my wife." Jones impatiently rolled the bike over to Blair. "It's gonna be dawn before you hash this out. You ready to go yet?"

"I'm gone." Blair started to mount the bike.

"No." Jim put a restraining hand on his friend's arm and Blair swung his leg back over the bike obediently. "Give me 5 minutes to get into position. Jones, don't let him go until I give the word, OK?"

"We've got him covered, Ellison."

"Yeah."

Blair watched with a sinking feeling as Jim took off at a trot toward the park. He'd never felt this alone before. Usually, when they were in dangerous situations, he was right behind Jim or safely out of the way somewhere. Now he was about to head right into the thick of it and he didn't even know exactly where Jim would be. The wind had started to blow, and as he looked down the street towards the park entrance it suddenly seemed very cold. He zipped up his jacket. There were streetlights all the way down, and there would be lights inside the park too, along the path. But in between those spots of warm safety was nothing but indiscernible darkness. Behind the blowing leaves he could only see blackness and imagined things waiting in there to reach out and grab him as he passed. He shuddered. "You've done it again, Sandburg. Usually you just stumble into these things, but now you've gone and volunteered. Brilliant, just brilliant. Naomi said 'You've got a high IQ, Blair. You can go into any field you want to.' So I said, I'll become an anthropologist. Worst that can happen is I get eaten by pygmies, and like, _nobody_ gets eaten by pygmies anymore. But where did I end up? In a park in the middle of psycho city, waiting to have some headcase bash my face in."

Jim's voice was suddenly in his ear. "Your microphone seems to be working fine, Sandburg."

Blair choked. "Uh, gee, thanks, Jim."

Jones came up behind him and Blair almost jumped out of his skin. "Easy kid. It's time to go. Remember the path we agreed on. Our guys are lined up all along it. If someone makes a move, their ass is ours. We've rigged the tire on the bike, but if for some reason it doesn't go flat before you're to the 6th street light, you turn around and head back. Understand?"

"Got it."

"Good. Get going."

Blair gritted his teeth and mounted the bike. As he moved toward the entrance of the park, he felt like he was pedaling towards the gates of Hell.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim was stationed a fair distance into the park, in some bushes between the 5th and 6th streetlight. When Jones had practiced with the flat tire earlier, they had judged it to be the mostly likely location for Blair to stop.

Jim heard Blair on the bike, his breathing a little heavier than it should have been. He was scared. Well, he had every right to be. Jim couldn't shake the feeling of impending disaster. His fears were validated when he heard Blair's voice too soon. "OK. My tire just went flat."

Then Brown's voice. "Oh, shit. It went flat just inside the gates. Who's covering that?"

"I am, Sir. This is McKetrick, I've got a visual on him." One officer. It wasn't going to be enough. Jim immediately started moving from his position, zoning in on Blair's voice.

Blair's voice rose for the benefit of any audience he might have. "Oh, man! This sucks." Jim heard him deliver a vicious kick to the tire.

"OK, you're doing good, Chief."

And then, suddenly, it was happening. "Ungh. Help!" Jim could hear Blair struggling with his attacker, his cries muffled by something, and slowly tapering off to nothing. Chloroform. Blair was unconscious now. Jim tried to make his legs move faster. He felt like he was running in slow motion. Blair was still too far away. The road into the park curved and he still didn't have a clear line of sight to the entrance.

"All units, move now." Jones' voice was full of urgency, but somehow Jim knew that the men had started moving long before he had ordered it.

"Where is he? Unit One, any sign of him?"

"Negative."

"Unit Two?"

"Nothing here, sir."

Unit Three?"

"Bike's still here. No sign of Sandburg."

"Damn it! He couldn't have just disappeared off the face of the earth. McKetrick, did you have visual on him when he was attacked?"

"Yes, Sir. He was being dragged toward Harris Street. I lost sight of him before I could get to him."

"This is unacceptable. I want him found now!"

"Hold on Blair. We're coming." Jim finally caught sight of the bike and rushed over to it. McKetrick, a young uniformed officer, stood beside it, looking frantically in all directions. He was the officer who, dressed in a wig and grungy clothes, had failed to attract the killer in earlier attempts.

Jim stood next to the bike and opened up all of his senses, searching desperately for any sign of his friend. Immediately, he caught the scent of Blair's cologne. Earlier he'd thought Blair had overdone it. Now as he followed his nose, focused solely on that smell, he was grateful for it. Jim stopped abruptly at a manhole cover near the street. That was strange, there had been no evidence that any of the other victims had been taken into the sewer system. Cautiously, he lifted the cover, listening for signs of his partner. Several officers had seen him and were now close behind, backing him up. Someone handed him a flashlight. Cautiously he descended the ladder. Very little time had passed, and the suspect couldn't have made it far carrying an unconscious man. Now in the sewer, he again appreciated the wisdom of too much cologne. He could still pick it up easily among the other foul smells assailing him. As his flashlight played across the wet bricks of the tunnel, the beam caught a dark, motionless lump about 20 feet away. His heart jumped. Blair. The murderer had dumped him face down in a pool of stagnant water. Moving quickly but cautiously, alert for any sign of the killer, he approached his partner. Kneeling down and flipping Blair over, he checked for a pulse. It was there. He was still breathing as well, although Jim could hear a wet rattling in his lungs. He'd inhaled a lot of water. He grabbed a handful of Blair's soaking jacket and held him in an upright position, leaning him against his leg, then focused down the tunnel for signs of the murderer, but he could pick up nothing.

Blair shuddered against him and leaned over, coughing up rank water and vomit. "It's going to be OK, Blair." He stowed his gun and lifted Blair up, trying to move him to a drier location. His friend was barely conscious and groaned weakly. Jim knelt down, supporting Blair's shoulders with one arm and gently slapping his face with the other. "Wake up, Blair. You're OK." Blair's eyes opened for a moment and he seemed to recognize Jim. He let out a sigh of relief, and then his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness again. Jim patted Blair's cheek affectionately, "Take it easy, Chief. Get some rest."

Brown and two officers were next to him now. "How's Sandburg?"

"Alive. Why don't you get him back up. He inhaled a lot of sewer water, he needs to get to the hospital and get checked out. I'm going to see if I can track this guy down."

Brown motioned to the officers, who hauled a groggy Blair to his feet, each taking an arm and putting it over their shoulder. "I'm going with you. Bastard left Sandburg to drown. I want a piece of him."

Jim nodded his assent and cast one last look at Sandburg, listening to reassure himself that his partner's heart was beating strongly and heard him mumble something incoherent. "Take care of him."

Officer McKetrick nodded in understanding. "You bet, Ellison."


	4. Chapter 4

It had happened so fast. Blair hadn't been expecting that. One second, the tire went flat, right on cue, the next second, a powerful arm snaked around his waist and another pressed a sweet-smelling cloth against his face. He'd managed, or thought he had, to yell for help once before the warm drowsiness had overtaken him. Although he didn't think he'd ever completely lost consciousness, he'd had trouble keeping his eyes open. He remembered feeling himself being slung over the killer's shoulder and carried somewhere.

"This is when Jim and the guys come to the rescue," he thought, but it seemed to be taking a long time. Too long. Where were they? "You won't be more than 50 yards from help at any time." That's what they'd said. So where in the hell were they? The killer was a big man, and Blair hadn't even been able to put up a good struggle. Now he heard a scraping noise and opened his eyes just in time to see the gaping hole below him before he was dropped down into it. Even through the chloroform, he felt the pain of the landing. His eyes drifted shut again, and he heard the manhole cover being pulled back and sound of the man's boots on the rungs of the ladder. He struggled to open his eyes. If he was going to be killed, he wanted to see the man's face. His body wouldn't cooperate and he felt the man messing with his ear piece just as Jim's voice came through. "Hold on, Blair. We're coming." His wire was ripped from his ear, then he was lifted again and slung over the man's back. There were noises in the distance, shouts. They were looking for him. Everything would be fine. He'd put on enough cologne to choke a horse. Even someone with no enhanced senses should be able to follow his trail.

His abductor spoke for the first time, letting loose a string of expletives under his breath. Suddenly, the world tilted and Blair was face down in thick water. A hand on the back of his head pushed his face roughly down into the silt and filth at the bottom of the pool and then was gone. Oh, God, he couldn't move, he couldn't lift his head. He felt water enter his nose and mouth, but he couldn't even muster the strength to hold his breath. "I didn't want to do this. Why did I do this? Jim said I shouldn't, now I'm drowning to death in a storm drain." Instinctively, his body tried to draw in air, and only succeeded in pulling more filthy water into his lungs. "Jim, please, help me." He struggled one last time to lift his head before the world went dark.

A familiar voice interrupted the blackness, and he felt his body convulse and shudder. Slowly he swam to the surface.

"Wake up Blair. You're OK."

A hand on his face and a familiar voice drew him awake. Mustering all of his energy, he lifted his eyelids. Jim's was looming over him, smiling reassuringly. "Jim." Did he say that out loud? Relief washed over him, along with the need to close his eyes again. His stomach was doing somersaults, and he didn't want to be awake right now.

"Take it easy, Chief. Get some rest."

"OK, Jim." He knew Jim hadn't heard him, but it was OK. He was safe now. Everything was OK. He let himself drift away.

Things were blurry after that. Two officers were helping him walk. He was pretty sure one was McKetrick. One of them was saying something to him, and his hands were placed on a ladder. Was he supposed to climb? He tried to lift his leg onto the bottom rung, but his knees felt like jello. He heard a lot of yelling, and realized he was no longer on the ladder, but sitting next to it, staring at the dirt floor. He wished he could find the energy to lift his head. This whole situation was getting old really fast. Not to mention the fact that he was starting to feel a little queasy and he had a nasty, gritty, taste in his mouth. He was pulled to his feet again, and someone was lifting him, holding his arms up above his head, then there were hands on his wrists and he was weightless. As he was pulled up into the chill night air, the nausea hit him full force, and the last thing he remembered before he blacked out again was throwing up on Captain Banks.

The next time he woke up he felt cold. The wind was blowing, and he was wet. Someone had stuffed something soft under his head and had placed a large Cascade PD windbreaker over him. There was activity everywhere. Red and white lights were flashing, lighting up the trees. The park. Blair felt the sudden urge to vomit and struggled to turn over. Two massive hands helped him, holding his soaking hair back until he was done.

"Thanks, Joel." He muttered weakly. Joel put his hands under Blair's arms and gently pulled him a short distance from the mess he'd just made.

"Ambulance is on the way, kid. You'll be fine."

"I feel like shit. Where's Jim?"

"It's no wonder. He's gone after the sonofabitch."

Blair struggled to sit, but the world started tilting again. "Alone?"

Joel lowered him gently to the ground again. "No, not alone. Of course not. He's got Brown with him, and a couple of the uniforms just went down after them. Take it easy."

Simon was standing in the midst of a small group of men, barking out orders. He saw Blair and hastened over. "Did you get a look at him?"

"I'm fine Simon. Thanks for the concern." Except he wasn't fine. Bile rose in his throat, and he leaned on his side and closed his eyes, willing the nausea to pass. It did, but instead of feeling better he was wracked with violent coughs. He refused to think about the things that had been living in the water he'd inhaled. When he caught his breath again, he noticed that his whole body was trembling with the cold. He felt very tired again. "No Sir, I didn't. He came up behind me. All I know is that he was a big guy. Strong." He rolled onto his back again trying to speak through chattering teeth. "I'm sorry. I couldn't open my eyes."

"It's not your fault, Blair."

"He's going into shock, Captain." Joel snuggled the jacket around Blair's shoulders, trying to give him more warmth.

"No, I'm just cold, man." Another gust of wind blew over him. His nose was starting to feel numb. "Where were you? I thought you were supposed to be close?" Blair tried to sound angry.

"We screwed up, man. I'm sorry. We thought we had all the exits covered." Joel patted him on the shoulder.

Simon had disappeared, and Blair heard him yelling at someone, wanting to know where in the hell the ambulance was. "Have you ever been dropped down a manhole?"

"Can't say that I have."

"It hurts."

A pained and guilty expression crossed the big captain's face, and he squeezed Blair's shoulder. "Yeah, I bet it does. I really am sorry."

"I forgive you." Blair smiled. He was about to make a smart ass comment when the nausea hit him full force again, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. He had nothing left to bring up, and the dry heaves were making his throat raw. "You know, a stomach pump sounds really attractive right now."

"Hold on kid. I see the ambulance."

Blair didn't roll onto his back this time. He was finding some relief curled up on his side, and didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up in the ambulance. An IV had been attached to his hand and he felt noticeably warmer. Joel was just shutting the doors. "Hey, Joel!"

"Yeah?"

"Have you heard from Jim?"

"Yeah, man. He's on his way back. He's fine. Just relax and enjoy the ride."

"Yeah, right."

Joel smiled at him and started to shut the doors again. They immediately flew open and Jim hopped in.

Detective Brown stuck his head in the door. "Hey, Hairboy. How you doin'?"

"I'll probably live."

"Sorry we blew it. Don't worry, we'll get him." Blair heard Simon yelling from somewhere outside, and Brown yanked his head out of the door like he'd been stung by a bee.

The medic asked impThe medic asked impatiently. "Can we go?"

"Yep." As the ambulance slowly pulled out, Jim smiled. "Must not be fatal, eh Chief?"

Blair looked at him quizzically.

"No sirens." Jim had rested his hand on Blair's upper arm and had squeezed it reassuringly. If Blair's aroma bothered him, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Something the medic wasn't able to do.

"So you didn't catch him?" Nothing was ever that simple.

"No. Sorry."

"That makes it official."

"What?"

"Everyone in the department has apologized to me now. Except for Simon, but he was too busy busting balls."

"They should have. We screwed up. We didn't secure the situation properly. I should never have let you do this." There he went again, Jim was in big brother mode.

"I do have a brain of my own."

"And it's my job to protect it."

"Hey, I thought it was my job to feel guilty." Blair had a fuzzy memory that was trying to get out. It seemed important. Something about the killer standing over him... "Oh, God. It _is_ my fault that you lost him."

"What are you talking about?"

"He took my wire. He probably heard every word you said when you were chasing him."

"Take it easy. You could only hear me on that thing, and I wasn't doing a lot of talking." Jim began to feel a little queasy himself as he remembered what he had said over the radio. If the killer had been listening, he now knew the name of his victim.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim was angry. As much at himself for his part in the fiasco as Simon, but the Captain owned some of the responsibility, too. When he heard Simon start to rationalize, his tenuous grip on control snapped. "You pressured him, Simon. You can talk to me all you want about how you gave him a choice, but you didn't and you know it. You played on his guilt and his pride."

"You're right, I'm sorry Jim. It's just that we needed him..."

"You know what he said to me when he decided to do this? That the last murder was _his_ fault because he hadn't gone undercover like you'd asked."

"Jim..."

"No. I'm not in the mood for explanations. You manipulated him. You forced him to go against his instincts, and you completely ignored mine."

"Jim, I'm sorry..."

"That wouldn't have done him much good if he'd died, would it? Christ, Simon. McKetrick was in position _alone_. What in the hell kind of amateur planning went into this operation?"

"Jones didn't think..."

"You're damned right he didn't think. I should have insisted on going over this before I let Sandburg into it."

The doctor entered at that moment, stopping Jim from saying anything to further harm his relationship with the captain. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt as angry as this. Especially at a friend like Simon. "How's he doing, Doc?"

"Well, if he'd almost drowned in a swimming pool, I'd be tempted to send him home right now, but he inhaled and swallowed some pretty nasty stuff. He's already running a low-grade fever, and he's been vomiting. I'm concerned that he might become dehydrated or develop pneumonia. I'd like to keep him here for a day or two, get some heavy duty antibiotics into him and make sure his lungs clear up all right. You can see him in a few minutes, the nurses are helping him get cleaned up right now. He didn't exactly smell like a bouquet of roses when he came in." The doctor chuckled. "Which one of you is Jim?"

"I am."

"I know you'll be seeing him in a minute, but Mr. Sandburg was groggy from the chloroform when he came in. He insisted that I get this message to you." He handed a slip of paper to Jim. "He wants you to call this person and have her take over his classes tomorrow. He also said that you should go to the loft and get the folder marked "Anthro 101" and deliver it to Hargrove Hall, room 312."

Simon smiled. "See Jim, he's fine. You can't keep that kid down."

Jim felt Simon's hand on his shoulder and he stepped away. He wasn't ready to forgive just yet. "Thanks, Doc."

Blair was awake and sitting up when Jim entered the room. Jim's nose twitched at the smell of soap and disinfectant, mingled with a fate hint of bile. The scents were still preferable to Blair's condition two hours earlier. An IV was attached to Blair's hand, but otherwise he seemed fine. A little pale, maybe a touch of green in his complexion, but he was managing to have an animated conversation with the stern looking nurse who was adjusting the tubes next to his bed.

"Sir, this hospital practices _modern_ medicine."

"I know, but sometimes a natural cure is as good or better than an artificial one. I'm just saying that for this particular ailment, it might be better to use..."

Jim smiled and interrupted. "Chief, after what you've been through tonight, I'd think you'd be grateful for some hard-core antibiotics."

"I am, Jim." He paused, grimacing. "Believe me. But I know a great cure for nausea. This 'modern' hospital seems to frown on natural medicine."

The nurse finished adjusting the IV. "If you're set on using something not on our approved schedule of medications, you'll have to OK it with your doctor." She glanced at Blair's chart. "He's not scheduled to see you again until tomorrow at 11."

"Great, I'll probably be over it by then."

"I'm sorry sir, that's the best I can do." She glanced at Jim on her way out. "Don't stay long, he needs his rest."

Blair watched the woman walk out the door with a look of chagrin. "So narrow-minded, man."

Jim smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed, patting Blair's leg through the blanket. "You seem to be recovering nicely."

"Don't let outward appearances fool you. I may hurl any second."

"That bad, huh?"

"That was just _way_ too disgusting. Remind me never to volunteer for anything that involves a sewer system again."

"That was a new one on us, too. The killer changed his m.o." Blair seemed lost in memories for a moment, then shuddered. Jim felt his anger and guilt rising again. "I'm sorry, Blair. I'm sorry we weren't on that guy like we should have been."

Blair shook his head adamantly. "Huh-uh. Don't start blaming yourself for this. I knew the risks. I'm fine. No broken bones, no gaping wounds. This is no worse than a case of the flu. Besides, I've messed up plenty of times. It's not like I'm gonna start throwing stones."

"You're allowed to. You're not a cop. The worst thing that happens if you screw up in your profession is that people think some Indian tribe invented the PTA three hundred years before the first school was built. When we screw up, people get hurt."

Blair smiled in a valiant attempt at levity. "C'mon, man. What's that saying you're so fond of? 'That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'"

Jim was about to respond when the door opened and Simon came in. Jim's eyes turned icy and he clenched his jaw and turned back to Blair. His friend immediately noticed. "What's up with you two?"

Simon stole a glance at Jim before smiling widely at Blair. "Hi, Blair. How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm on the tail end of a two day bender." He looked past Simon as the door swung closed. "Why is there a guy out there?"

Simon looked down and cleared his throat. "Nothing for you to worry about. Just a standard precaution."

Jim saw the look on Blair's face at Simon's obvious lie and suppressed the urge to start yelling again. "The killer may know your name, Blair. If he had your wire on then he heard me call you by your first name, and Brown use your last. He probably didn't have time to put it on, but we're not taking any chances."

"Great." Blair looked away, staring hard at the wall. Jim didn't see fear there, but something else that was hard to define. Resignation? He'd been through a lot since he'd met Jim. How long before something snapped? How long before the constant danger changed something essential in his friend?

"You're perfectly safe, Sandburg. There's nothing to worry about." Simon tried to smile reassuringly.

Jim couldn't take it any more, he stood up. "Simon, why are you talking to him like he's some wet behind the ears rookie? Blair's been working with us for over a year. He doesn't need condescending remarks about how safe he is."

"They do give me a nice sense of false security." Blair offered, trying to defuse the situation.

Simon pulled himself up to his full height. "Jim, you've been second-guessing me since this started and I've had enough of it. I'm your superior officer. We made some mistakes, I admit it. But I'm not going to take any more of your abuse because you feel guilty for letting Blair do this."

"Jesus, Simon. You don't even have the decency to apologize to him for pushing him into this."

"Jim, you've done the same thing to him yourself. I've watched you browbeat him into going undercover before. The only reason you're angry is that someone else did it."

Blair interrupted, rare anger filling his voice. "Whoa guys. I don't like the direction this conversation is taking. Are you trying to piss me off, too? I am _not_ some pawn for you guys to trade back and forth. Jim, you're always going on about taking responsibility for your own actions, but you won't let me take responsibility for my own. I knew Simon was messing with my head. I'm not stupid. I could have resisted it if I'd really wanted to, but I _chose_ to do this. I went into this situation with my eyes wide open." He was looking directly at Jim now, his piercing blue eyes trying to penetrate him. "Let it go, OK?"

Simon's face relaxed, and he just looked tired. "You're right, Sandburg. And I am sorry about all this. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt. And Jim, you were right. I've known you long enough that I should have trusted your instincts."

Jim's anger had only abated slightly, but he tried to shrug it off. Everything about this case had gotten out of hand. "I'm sorry I blew up, Sir."

Blair waved his hand at them. "OK, now shake hands or something." He was suppressing a grin as he said it.

Simon held out his hand, and Jim accepted, trying to follow Blair's advice. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to trust Simon again as far as Blair was concerned.

"Sandburg, I need you to tell us anything you can about the suspect."

"Suspect." Blair snorted. "I love that word. I told you I didn't see him, but I think you'll be able to narrow it down just from the physical description. This guy was big."

"Everyone's big to you."

Blair glared at Simon. "No, I mean this guy was _big_. At least as tall as you Simon, but I'd guess a little taller, and wide too. And his hands were enormous. When he put the chloroform over my face, his hand practically wrapped around my head."

"Don't exaggerate, Sandburg. It won't help."

"I'm not exaggerating. This was a big guy. Somebody saw him, right? I mean, I was within 50 yards of help at all times...wasn't I?" Even Simon must have heard the mixture of anger and sarcasm in the last statement. There was something almost comforting in the fact that Blair was starting to get pissed off about what had happened. At least he wasn't going to meekly accept their failure, or try to lay it all on himself.

Simon sighed. "Yes, Sandburg, you were. But we weren't expecting the tire to go flat such a short distance into the park. That's how he was able to get away from us."

"No one was close?"

"McKetrick was, but he's young and inexperienced. You were in shadows when the suspect grabbed you. McKetrick didn't get a very good look before he lost you."

Blair ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh man. If Jim hadn't been there I'd be dead, wouldn't I?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Jim, where were you when this went down?"

"About a quarter of a mile away."

"But you're the one who found me." It was a statement, not a question. Jim nodded, and Blair said, "Case closed. Look Captain, when I said the guy was big, I meant it. If he walked in here right now you'd notice him. He was strong too. I couldn't move when he grabbed me. It wasn't like Lash. That guy was strong, but I could fight back, you know? Lash had to work to get me, and he almost didn't. There was no way I was gonna fight this guy."

"OK, kid. I'll put out an alert, but we need more to go on than that."

"Oh, man." Blair sounded distinctly uncomfortable as he threw the sheets back and sat up.

"You OK?" Jim moved for the call button.

"No, no. Don't." He reached out and intercepted Jim's wrist, moving it away. "This reminds me of the time I drank the water in Tiajuana." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, swiftly rolling his IV towards the bathroom. "It's been great bonding with you guys and everything, but I don't think I want to share this particular experience with you. Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

"All right, Chief." Jim reached out and squeezed his friends shoulder. "Take it easy. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Actually, he had no intention of leaving the hospital while there was a possibility that Blair would be attacked. He'd catch a little shuteye in the waiting room. He could see by the light peeking through the blinds that it was already morning. A number of the other detectives and officers had changed to plain clothes and returned to the hospital, trying to blend in. He wasn't the only one who felt guilty about last night's events, and they were all going to make damned sure no one had a chance to get at Blair again.


	6. Chapter 6

Blair felt tired clear down to his bones, but he couldn't sleep. Everything was still too fresh in his mind. How could they lose him like that? His trust in Jim's colleagues had been shaken to it's foundations, especially when he'd learned that McKetrick was the only officer close when he'd been grabbed. They'd had a rookie guarding the entrance to the park. For crying out loud, even Blair had more police experience than this guy. How could they do that? How could Simon let that happen?

Jim hadn't been in charge of coordinating the trap, and for that he was grateful. He wouldn't have been able to handle it if Jim had screwed up this badly. His life depended on Jim, and he wanted and needed to trust him absolutely. And Jim had come through, even when he was impossibly far away when the killer had taken him. Somehow he'd been right behind them. Somehow he'd caught up with Blair in time to save him from drowning. Who else could have found him, being carried beneath the streets of Cascade? Blair knew, even though Jim had told him that he was going home to get some rest, that he was somewhere nearby, keeping an eye out. With that comforting thought and the feel of the warm morning sun shining through the blinds, Blair drifted off to sleep.

Hadn't he just fallen asleep? Man, he hated hospitals. Someone was poking him and prodding him, and there was something in his ear. He opened his eyes, and saw that the sun had barely changed position from the time he had closed his eyes. Swatting at whatever was in his ear, he snapped., "I thought you wanted me to get some rest?"

"Hold still, sir. I need to get your temperature."

Blair put his hand down, but couldn't shake his bad mood. His head was pounding now, and the nausea had never entirely abated. Just the memory of the foul tasting water was enough to make him gag, but he was able to suppress it.

"Do you need to throw up?"

Blair was about to say no, when he felt everything start to come up again. The nurse was quick on the draw and had a pan beneath his mouth before he emptied the minimal contents of his stomach. Several minutes of painful dry heaves followed, and the raw pain in his throat was almost unbearable. The nurse held a cup of water to his lips as he tried to rinse the taste of acid from his mouth, but it didn't help much. The pounding in his head had increased to excruciating levels and he leaned back and let out a short sob, feeling tears trickle down his face. Why was he crying? God, he felt like a wimp. Now all he needed was for Jim or Simon to walk in. He brushed the tears away quickly.

"What's wrong, Mr. Sandburg?" The nurse put the thermometer back in Blair's ear and held it there.

"My head."

He heard a beeping sound in his ear, and the nurse announced, "You're fever is up. I'm going to see if we can move up the doctor's visit an hour or two. In the meantime, we'll get you something for that headache."

The nurse left and Blair closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep again, but it didn't do any good. His muscles ached, his stomach was churning again, and knives were being pressed into the back of his head. He couldn't remember a time when every part of him had felt as bad as this. Emotion welled up in him and he was about to cry like a little kid again when Jim walked in the door and stopped cold. His smile had frozen on his face and instantly changed to a look of concern. Blair struggled to regain control. "Hey."

"What's up, Chief? Haven't you slept?"

The door opened again and Simon stepped in. He'd changed clothes, prompting Blair to remember that he'd thrown up on the captain last night, but otherwise looked as if he hadn't slept. Both men were unshaven.

"I want to, man. Believe me. The nurse woke me up..." Blair dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, as much to try to alleviate the pain there as to prevent the tears from flowing. How had things gone downhill so fast?

"Blair?" Jim was at his side now.

"I feel really lousy, Jim. What's wrong with me?" He knew his voice was trembling, but he couldn't help it. He grabbed blindly for the bedpan as the dry heaves started again. A comforting hand rested on his back, and another held his hair back from his face. Simon mumbled something about getting the damned doctor and disappeared. The pounding in his head was unendurable now, and it was almost a relief when he realized he was losing consciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

"Blair?" Jim gently laid his friend's head back on the pillow and rushed to the door to yelled for a nurse. He must have yelled louder than he intended, because Simon and two other officers came rushing up. He explained to the nurse, who told him that the doctor was already on his way. Jim went back into the room and put a protective hand on his arm. Blair hadn't moved, and his face had a ghostly pallor.

"Jesus, Jim. He looks like death warmed over."

Jim couldn't think of an answer for that. Just a couple of hours ago, Blair had been animated and talkative. Sick, but not terribly so. It didn't seem possible that his body could revolt on him so quickly, but he knew better. He'd seen men die before. Talking one minute, with a cold, blank-eyed stare the next. Life was fragile, and Blair had been lucky so far. After everything that had happened to him over the last year and a half, it would be ironic for something like this to kill him. Mentally, he tried to prepare himself for the possibility, but he couldn't do it. Blair was his friend, closer than any family he had. He refused to entertain any notions of his mortality.

Suddenly, the room was filled with nurses and doctors. Simon was pushed out, but Jim faded into a back corner, out of the way but near enough to watch over the proceedings. The one nurse who tried to push him out gave up when greeted with his icy stare. The people surrounding Blair's bed busied themselves checking blood pressure, temperature, respiration and heartbeat. The doctor issued orders that Jim didn't hear. He was focused on Blair. His heart rate seemed fast, but not dangerously so. There was a slight rattle in his chest, but not as bad as it had been last night. If Jim reached out with his senses just enough, he could feel the warmth of Blair's body, even from across the room. His temperature was high but he didn't believe it was high enough to cause coma. Jim shifted his focus to the doctor. Nothing in the man's respiration, heartbeat or tone of voice conveyed any urgency or danger. Jim began to relax, realizing that his jaw had been clenched tightly enough to cause pain. The nurse who had tried to force him out before saw him relax and moved in again, pushing and cajoling until Jim finally relented and walked out into the hallway.

A small knot of men was standing outside with Simon and turned expectantly. "How is he?" Simon sounded as though he expected the worst.

"I don't know." Jim pinched the corners of his eyes with his fingers. He was starting to grow a colossal headache of his own. "The doc's still checking him out."

"What happened?" McKetrick was there, still in uniform, and had been since the ordeal started. He was carrying around a lot of guilt about Blair.

"I don't know. When we left him this morning, he seemed to be doing all right. Sick, but no more than the flu. When we came back two hours later he looked like hell. One minute he was throwing up, the next..." The next, he had let out an awful moan and passed out. "He's unconscious and he's got a high fever, that's all they know right now."

McKetrick looked dismayed. "But that's not possible. He was fine. You pulled him out of the water, he didn't drown. He just swallowed a little water." The young cop shook his head in denial. "He was just groggy from the chloroform. He was fine."

"Obviously not, McKetrick." Simon said sharply, taking in the downcast faces of the men around him. "Feeling guilty isn't going to help him or you. This screw-up belongs to all of us, and I won't have you shouldering it alone. Sandburg will pull through this, he's strong. If an overdose of golden couldn't kill him, no bug is going to. I need volunteers for guard duty, and anyone who hasn't been home to get some rest is going to do it, because I won't have anyone falling asleep here. Understood?"

Simon had managed to prod the depressed men into action, and Jim was thankful for it. He tuned out the sounds of Simon barking orders and listened instead to the activity in Blair's room. The doctor was ordering different medication. More antibiotics, and something to bring the fever down. He heard a voice which he recognized with instant relief as Blair's. Jim stood straight as he heard the doctor finish up and head for the door. His change in posture brought silence to the men behind him.

As the doctor emerged, he raised his eyebrows in amusement at the group of tough-looking men, faces etched with worry. "Mr. Sandburg has a lot of friends in the police department, I see."

McKetrick asked before anyone else could. "He's gonna be OK, right?"

"Nothing's ever certain, but I believe so, yes. He's got a nasty virus and a high fever, but we're adjusting his medication, and barring any complications he should be able to shake this in a day or two. Mr. Sandburg is conscious again, but he doesn't feel up to any visitors right now. The combination of medications and his illness have made him a little bit...emotional."

"How could this happen? He was all right last night. I thought the antibiotics were supposed to stop him from getting sick." There was an accusing tone in McKetrick's voice. The young cop was stressing out. Jim would have to talk to Simon about getting the kid to visit the department shrink.

"Mr. Sandburg inhaled and swallowed water that was full of bacteria, toxins, who knows what else? His immune system is having a hard time fighting all of it. His illness wasn't unexpected, that's why we kept him here for observation. I'm still concerned that he may develop bacterial pneumonia, but there are no signs of it yet."

Jim was concerned now. "Bacterial pneumonia can be fatal, can't it?"

"Yes, it can. But I see no signs of it, as I've said. I'm very optimistic about his recovery. He seems like a fighter."

"He is." Simon agreed.

"Right now, I want him to get some rest. No visitors. He was pretty adamant about not having any." The doctor looked at Jim. "He specifically told me to make sure that you go home and get some rest, Detective Ellison. He said something to the effect that being his 'Blessed Protector' wasn't going to mean a thing if you collapsed from exhaustion. I have to agree with him, there. You look as though you could use a few hours of sleep."

Jim reluctantly agreed, but not before he made sure that there were at least three men guarding Blair's room, all men he could trust. One of them was undercover as an orderly. Even so, leaving and going back to the loft was a struggle. He ate his breakfast and showered as quickly as he could, then set the alarm for three hours later, planning on sleeping only as much as was necessary to keep him going. He was tempted to try to go back to the hospital and sleep in the waiting room again, but he knew Simon would make him turn right back around and go home. There had never been any attempts to finish off the first victims, but the killer's goals seemed to have changed and, after all, this was Blair. He attracted trouble like flies to honey. He should be safe, though, with three good men guarding him.

_Should be._

The words echoed in his mind. Blair should have been safe last night. There was no reason for what had happened, no explanation good enough for the failure that had almost cost his friend his life. Jim tossed in his bed, unable to sleep with the thoughts racing through his mind. He tried to recreate the events that had led to the failure, but he couldn't; he hadn't been involved in much of the planning of the operation.

_That was my first mistake._

Jim should have taken charge. In the past he'd always been in control of situations in which Blair might be placed in peril. He'd rarely failed Blair, and even when the work had put the anthropologist in serious danger, Jim had been armed with enough information about the situation to rescue him. That wasn't the case here. An entirely different team of detectives had been working on the case from the beginning, and Jim and the guys from Major Crimes had been allowed to be involved in the operation as a courtesy only. Actually, Simon had told Captain Jones that Blair wasn't available unless Jim, Brown, and Taggert could back him up. They'd been briefed five minutes before they moved out.

Captain Jones. Jim had worked with him once or twice. He was an ambitious man who ran a tight ship in the Homicide department. Jones had a military background, although not as extensive as Jim's, and liked to plan to the most minute detail. Blair thought Jim was anal at times, but he had nothing on Jones. So why had he placed a rookie like McKetrick at the front gate of the park? As a military man, he must have recognized the weakness in his trap. The answer came to Jim clearly. Ego. Nothing outwardly would show that Jones was an egotist, but Jim knew that he took pride in running his department like a Swiss watch. One of the aspects of the trap that he had planned very carefully was the timing of the leak in the bike's tire. He had expected it to go flat at Jim's location, much farther into the park than the place that it had actually happened. Jones hadn't arranged for the flat to occur so close to the gate, so he didn't consider it a possibility. He had ignored a basic rule: be ready for any contingency, because he believed he had total control over the situation. It was a foolish mistake, and a very human one. One that Jim realized he was capable of making under certain circumstances.

If Jones took his job as seriously as Jim thought he did, he must be tearing himself up over this one. Where was Jones, anyway? Jim sat up in bed and grabbed the phone. He hadn't heard from the Captain since last night. He hadn't inquired about Blair's health that Jim knew of, and he hadn't been hanging around the hospital. Jim guessed that Jones was doing what he'd be doing in a similar situation, working on the case and trying to find the killer. He dialed the station.

"Jones." The voice sounded weary.

"This is Jim Ellison."

"Hey Jim, how's the kid?"

"He's been better."

"Yeah, I heard. What can I do for you?"

"It's more a question of what I can do for you. I'd like to help you out on this."

"Anything would be welcome at this point."

"You've got a psyche profile on this guy, right?"

"Yeah, for all the good it did. It was way off the mark."

"So you have no idea what the chances are that this guy will try to finish Blair off?"

"No." Jim heard a growl of frustration on the other line. "Nothing about this fits the standard serial killer m.o. His size alone is unusual. How certain are you that Sandburg remembered that accurately?"

"Blair has a good eye for details. If he says the guy was big, the guy was big."

"It's not average."

"What?"

"You know the standard profile for serial killers. Usually everything about them is average. They kill to be noticed and to feel powerful. A large, strong man is not who we were looking for. Maybe it's sexual. All of his victims have been young, fairly short, with slight builds. All but one had hair that was at least shoulder length."

That wasn't what Jim wanted to hear. "Look, I'm going to get a couple of hours of shut-eye here, then I'll come over to your office and look at the files. Maybe we can come up with another angle to catch this guy."

Jim hung up and rolled over in bed. Blair was right, he needed rest to be able to think everything through clearly. It was a fitful sleep, one filled with disturbing dreams about Blair being attacked by a giant. He'd been doing something particularly nasty to his friend right before the alarm went off. Jim was thankful when the memory of it faded as he dressed and grabbed another bite to eat. A quick call to the hospital revealed that all was well. Blair's fever had come down and he was sleeping. There had been no sign of any suspicious characters hanging around. Simon was leaving the number of guards at three, even though the police chief had already complained about the waste of manpower. If the killer was as big as Blair said, it would take that many to bring him down. If the chief pressed the issue, Simon had a list of men willing to come in on their off hours to help. Not all of them knew Blair, but at this point it had become a matter of honor and pride. The killer had attacked an officer's partner, cop or not, and had made them all look bad. It wasn't going to happen twice.

At the station, Jim found Brown in a conference room in Homicide, already pouring over the case files. "Find anything?"

"Not a whole lot. The victims were similar in appearance, they were all attacked in the park. Chloroformed, bound and beaten. The three survivors all sustained serious injuries, as you know, and the one guy that's been able to put together a coherent sentence didn't get a good look at the guy. Right now, Sandburg's description is the best we have."

"They couldn't even confirm if the guy was big or not?"

"No. They were all attacked from behind and knocked out, and when they woke up they were in intensive care. They don't even remember what happened to them."

Jim thought about it. The killer was definitely changing the way he was working. "But this psycho didn't give Blair enough chloroform to knock him out. He was groggy, but I saw him open his eyes..." Jim dialed the hospital and was put through to Blair's room when he was assured that his partner was awake and well enough to talk.

"Hello?"

"Hey buddy, how are you feeling?"

"That seems to be the stupid question of the day. Sick, man. Just not _as_ sick."

Jim smiled, he was starting to sound better. "Up for a few questions?"

"Sure, fire away."

"You weren't ever completely under when you were dosed with chloroform, were you?"

"Once or twice, I think. Mostly not. It was pretty fuzzy."

"But you were aware of what was going on?"

"You mean, when I was lying face down in the sewer, could I feel my lungs filling up with sludge? Yeah, I could." There was an uncharacteristic sharpness in Blair's tone.

Jim grimaced, imagining the panic his friend must have felt. "I'm sorry, Chief. We'll talk about this later, OK?"

"No, no, Jim. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking this out on you, man. I just feel crappy, you know? Yes, I was aware of what was going on. I knew he was carrying me, I felt him take the wire, I knew I was in a sewer. I tried to open my eyes to get a look at him, but I couldn't."

"It's not your fault. You gave us more than anyone else so far."

"Why did you need to know about that? Do you have a lead?"

"No. It's just inconsistent with the other attacks. The survivors all said that they were completely unconscious until they woke up in the hospital, and there isn't any evidence that indicates they were taken into the sewer system."

"Do you think he decided it wasn't any fun beating his victims while they were out of it?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he made a mistake and didn't give you enough. Or it could be a different guy."

"But why? Now would be a bad time to do a copycat thing. It's all over the papers."

"I just don't know. Look, I'm going to be here at the station for a while, but I'll stop in at the hospital later. You've got a lot of guys looking out for you there, are you OK with that?"

"Sure. These antibiotics are knocking me on my butt. If anything happens I'll probably sleep through it anyway." Blair yawned to punctuate his statement.

"OK, buddy. You need me to bring you anything?"

"Yeah, if you stop by the loft, can you pick up..."

"Your backpack? The fifty-pound book that was beside your bed? Tea bags? Already have them."

"We have _really_ got to set aside some time for experiments on this psychic thing."

"I think you're mistaking psychic for observant, Chief."

"Later, man."

Jim hung up feeling better about his friend's well-being. He'd always known that Blair internalized the things that bothered him, but this time he didn't seem to be taking any of the blame for what had gone wrong. A little healthy anger would do him good, even if Jim had to take the brunt of it.

As he looked at the table, stacked with files filled with information, very little of which would turn out to be useful, Jim began to feel his headache come back. The crime scenes were too old now to be of much use to him, even using his senses. It had rained once already today, and he'd failed to come up with anything in the storm drain. He and Brown had chased the suspect for about a mile underground, but the sounds and reverberations had confused his senses and he'd lost him. He'd needed his guide, then, to help him sort out the echoes of footsteps from the real thing. Maybe that's what had unsettled him from the start. Blair was meant to back him up, to help him with his senses, but to be protected at all costs. In a practical sense, if Jim lost his guide, he would be in peril every time he tried to use his abilities. Blair should never have been intentionally placed in jeopardy.

Jim walked over the coffee machine and poured some weak-looking liquid into a styrofoam cup, thinking longingly of the flavored stuff in Simon's office and trying to steel himself for the long hours of work he had ahead of him.

"We've got a lead." Jones appeared out of his office looking haggard but optimistic. "We've got a witness saw a big man coming out of a manhole about three blocks from the park. He got into a blue Impala and drove away. The witness gave us a good description and a partial plate number. We're running them now. The police artist is working on a sketch."

It was a lucky break. Something that was always welcome in police work. If the leads panned out, the job of finding the killer went from nearly impossible to merely difficult. If the partial plates were good, it might even be easy. Jim scanned through the files, trying to pick out any useful information while the DMV ran the plates. Depending on the plate number, there might be dozens of addresses to check out. It still could take days before they had the guy. The witness had claimed that the suspect was driving a blue Impala, but it could easily have been some other make or model. The fact that they'd seen it at night brought the color into question, too. Colors easily changed under the glare of sodium street lights. Still, it was something solid. The fact that the case was public meant that there would be no shortage of manpower to follow up on it.

An hour later, they had a list. Sixty possibilities, taking into account different models and colors of vehicles. The ones that were the closest match were at the top. The list only included cars with home addresses listed in this county. If the guy lived somewhere else, there would be an even larger list. He hoped they'd find the supsect before they had to go that far. Jones gave everyone the list, assigning sections to the available detectives to check out. He even took one for himself.

Jim stopped at the hospital on his way to check out some of the names, but Blair was sleeping and he didn't go into the room. Everything seemed to be under control, and the men on duty were more cheerful than they had been last night. Blair was doing much better and had spent some time earlier playing cards with Rafe. Simon had stopped in, too, and insisted on accompanying Jim. He surely had paperwork and other administrative duties to attend to, but he was taking this case as personally as everyone else and he was not above doing some legwork to get it closed quickly.

Jim and Simon discussed the case intently as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot, not noticing the battered green Impala that pulled into the space Jim had just vacated.


	8. Chapter 8

The man was very frustrated. He'd completely failed in his mission. He'd fully intended to kill the first three. They'd deserved it. But somewhere along the line, his misguided flashes of conscience had stopped him. The two he had killed had been a pleasure. If only he'd known how good it felt.... But this one. This last one had failed to drown. Drowning hadn't been his original plan, but once he'd sensed the trap, any solution would do. Poor planning. That was his problem. It was inexcusable, really. If he'd followed his script, there would be no need to take the risky action he was planning now. He hadn't put the hippie under all the way. He'd wanted him to suffer like the last two men had, to be fully aware that his weakness had led to a slow and painful death. Now he wasn't sure if he'd been seen. There had only been one point at which it could have happened. When he'd dropped the piece of shit into the manhole. He'd had a perfect opportunity to look at him, and his eyelids had opened a little, hadn't they? No matter. Natural selection would run it's course, he'd see to it. He'd prefer that suffering were involved. After taking the first life, he'd realized what pleasure, what power there was to be derived from such an action. Of course, his primary goal was to kill those who were weak and helpless in order to insure the future success of the human race, but surely he was allowed to enjoy it as well?

The boy would be guarded, no doubt. He'd already figured out Sandburg was in tight with the cops. Probably providing them with dope and sexual favors. It was amazing how even the weakest humans adapted and survived. In the past, wars or lack of proper diet and medicine had worked effectively to weed out the frail members of society, and still did in some parts of the world. But not here. Not in America. Here the worst examples of humanity could thrive and procreate, weakening the human race with each successive generation. It had to stop.

As the man reached the fourth floor of the hospital, he saw that the planning would have to be perfect this time. There were two guards in the hallway outside the little shit's door. They'd be easy enough to take out, but getting him to the parking lot and someplace quiet where he could work on him was more problematic. Not wanting to attract attention, he'd parked several rows from the door. He wasn't going to be able to carry a man out unnoticed. Maybe he didn't need to carry him out. All he really needed was someplace quiet and uninhabited. The boy wouldn't be allowed to make any noise. He fingered the glass bottle in his pocket. No need to use much this time, his target was already weak. Of course, the simplest and safest course would be to kill him quickly in his hospital bed and get as far away from Cascade as he could. His bags were already packed. But there was something about this one that nagged at him, that made him want to finish things right. This boy deserved to suffer. A quick death was too good for him. He needed to see the pain in his eyes, and the fear of knowing that he was about to die. It was perfectly natural to want that, wasn't it? The conqueror by nature should enjoy the suffering of his conquests, otherwise, what was the point of conquering? It was dangerous, though. If he got caught, he'd be spending the rest of his life in prison. This required more thought.

The man decended in the elevator to the basement, and began to scout out locations for his operation.

* * *

  
Blair woke up slowly, feeling fuzzy and out of sorts. The headache was gone, as was the nausea, but he was left feeling as though his whole head were wrapped in cotton. His back ached from the fall he'd taken, and he was sure there were going to be some lovely bruises back there.

_You didn't fall, Sandburg, you were dropped._

Blair wished his brain would quit reminding him of the reasons for his current situation. A cramp in his arm informed him that he'd been lying in one position too long. He needed to get up and walk around a little, he wasn't used to lying in bed for a whole day like this. As he stood he felt a refreshing breeze on his backside. God, hospital gowns sucked. He wasn't getting far in this attire. Jim had been here, he noticed, as he saw his backpack and a small duffle bag leaning against the chair. Rifling through it's contents, he blessed his friend for packing a couple of pairs of boxers and his sweats. He couldn't wear the t-shirt with an IV still in his hand, but he could definitely put enough clothes on to avoid total embarassment.

It took a while to get dressed, and he was in fear that any moment a well-meaning nurse would come in and put a stop to it, but he finally succeeded. After washing his face, and putting his tennis shoes on, he almost felt human again, but the very act of dressing had sapped most of the energy he had for walking. Instead, he settled for sitting in the chair and pulling out the book Jim had brought him. Fifty pounds was about right, and it was difficult hefting the thick tome in one hand, but he eventually managed to get it into his lap. A little light reading.

* * *

  
Simon was inspecting a handwritten piece of paper while Jim drove. He'd been staring at it for a full five minutes, a look of intense concentration on his face, then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the station, the beginning of a bad feeling stirring in his gut. "Peggy, this is Simon. I want you to check your records and see if we have an officer Stafford on the payroll. No, I want you to drop everything and do it now."

"What's up?"

"This is the list of people who've called the hospital asking about Sandburg's condition. There's a name on here I don't recognize. It's probably nothing, but I want to make sure."

"Check it against the list of partials."

Simon grabbed the printout and quickly scanned the list of names. "I'll be damned. This guy is either arrogant or stupid. Gerald Stafford owns a green '88 Impala. Lives over on Summit."

Jim pulled a U-turn and headed for the east side of town.

* * *

  
It wasn't a room as much as a large storage closet. It looked to be rarely used. It was filled with bed sheets, but there was fine layer of dust on the shelves. It was isolated and the door was sturdy, any sounds would be muffled, and anyway, there wasn't likely to be anyone down here any time soon. It was perfect. Just a quick ride down the service elevator with Mr. Blair Sandburg...Ha! Even his name was weak...and then they'd have plenty of time together.  


* * *

  
Rafe was down in the cafeteria eating and McKetrick was getting bored. He'd been sitting outside Sandburg's room for the last two hours and there was no sign of the suspect. He doubted there would be. No way was this guy going to come to the hospital to kill someone. He hadn't done it before, so why would he start now? This was his penance for screwing up. Could be worse. He could be writing traffic tickets right now. It wasn't his fault the guy got sick, he knew the risks. The captain had chewed his ass good for blowing the operation. "Why in the hell did you just stand there?" Jones had yelled at him for a good twenty minutes. He wanted to know why he hadn't chased the suspect, why he had stopped. Well, McKetrick didn't know the reason either. He just froze. His legs wouldn't move anymore. He wasn't about to tell his captain that. His dad had wanted him to be a cop. He'd been so proud. There was just no way he could face his father if he got thrown off the force, so he lied. He told Captain Jones that he'd lost the suspect in shadows. Truth was, he'd seen the guy. He was big and it had scared the hell out of him and that's why he froze. The detectives already knew the guy was big, so not telling anyone wasn't going to hurt anything. This would all work itself out and things could go back to normal. Maybe he'd transfer to the highway patrol, that seemed like an easier job. Less dangerous. Except maybe he'd end up getting shot by some drug crazed maniac during a traffic stop. There had to be a job with the police department where the chance of getting killed was almost nothing, but none of them brought the glory his father expected of him. If he could live life the way he really wanted, McKetrick would have a regular, no-risk 9 to 5 job, nothing too difficult, with the weekends off to drink beer with the guys and play poker.

Sandburg had been playing poker with Rafe earlier, and he'd invited McKetrick, but he'd declined. He knew the guy just wanted to rub his nose in it. He was probably as pissed off at him as the captain was. What the hell was some anthropologist doing going undercover anyway? Bad enough the guy was allowed to hang around cops, studying them like lab animals, but for them to allow him to do police work. Well, it just wasn't right. And the guys in Major Crimes talked about him like he was some kind of genius or something. If he was that smart, then why wasn't he making a million bucks a year? And then they were getting all worried about him, like he was some kid or something. Weakling almost died just from falling in some dirty water. The guy was older than he was, for crying out loud.

No, that wasn't fair. He'd been in the sewer. It was pretty gross down there. And, if he had to admit it, being carted off by some neanderthal man would have scared the shit out of him, too. It was just that he felt like everyone was blaming him for this. If Sandburg had died...well, he wasn't going to die, but if he had... Why had it happened at the entrance? If that stupid tire had blown where it was supposed to, none of this would have happened.

"Hello."

McKetrick looked up to see the neanderthal man standing above him. He only had time to think, "Oh, shit!" before the lights went out.


	9. Chapter 9

The book was putting him to sleep. It was a fascinating subject, but the writer gave new meaning to the word 'dry'. How could anyone make something so interesting completely boring like this? Blair had always tried to interject some life in between the necessary minutae of his papers, to convey in some way the excitement he felt when he'd discovered something extraordinary. Sighing, he closed the book and leaned his head against the back of the chair. The sun was already sinking. Only a day had passed since the incident in the park but it seemed far away now. Jim had come to the rescue as always, and he was probably zeroing in on the killer right now. Blair just hoped he didn't zone out without backup. Well, Simon had promised to keep an eye on him.

He felt a slight pain behind his right eye that was promising to become another headache. Probably ought to be resting, but he hated being in bed. He hated being in the hospital, too. The loft was far more inviting than the brick-like mattress he'd been sleeping on. Even the pillows seemed hard. How they managed that, he didn't know. Maybe he could ask the doc when he came in if there was a valid medical reason for all hospital beds to suck. The chair was pretty soft, though. He stood and pulled the chair closer to the bed, then lowered the bed as far as it would go. Snagging the thin blanket, he sat back down, propped his legs on the bed and covered up, settling in for a nice nap.

* * *

  
Jim pulled up to the address on the printout. It was a non-descript apartment building. Not in a bad neighborhood, not in a good one. Across the street he saw a sign for Dave's Gym. The apartment was on the second floor, and Jim knew before he even reached it that it was vacant. The furniture was still visible through the window, but it had an empty look, devoid of any personal effects. He and Simon began knocking on doors until they found someone who informed them that Gerald Stafford had loaded his car up a couple of hours ago and left. Simon put out an APB on Stafford's car, but their job had just become a whole lot harder. If the man left the state, they might never find him. He'd probably been spooked when he found out Sandburg was still alive.

They wouldn't be able to do anything more until they got a search warrant for the apartment. Technically, Stafford still lived there until he was evicted or gave notice. There was a possibility that he'd left something incriminating behind, but Jim thought it unlikely. There weren't even grounds to arrest him so far. A man with his name had called the hospital, and he owned an Impala that didn't exactly match the witnesses description. They'd run him through the computer to see if he had a record, but even that wouldn't help. On the plus side, the neighbor had given them an excellent physical description. Stafford was a big man, 6' 5", about 260 pounds. Sandy hair, cut short, and green eyes. He had a job on a road crew for the state and he worked out at the gym every other day. No girlfriends. No friends for that matter. He was quiet and kept to himself. At least that part fit with the standard serial killer description.

"If that operation in the park had worked, we'd have him cold. There's no way in hell we'll get another chance to catch him in the act. He's gonna go to some other town and kill some more young men, and it will be our failure that caused it."

"I know, Simon. There has to be something we've missed. Dammit, I wish we'd been on this from the start."

"It damn sure wouldn't have gone down the way it did if I'd been in charge."

"That's not fair, Simon. Jones made a mistake. He's a good cop."

"You're right, but I pushed Blair into this, just like you said, and he got hurt. I'm hating that."

"We all are."

Simon's phone chirped and he picked it up, listening quietly with a growing look of horror on his face. "Christ! We're on our way. You cover all the exits, you understand me? He's not getting out of there." He turned and started to run towards Jim's truck. "Stafford's at the hospital. Knocked out McKetrick and grabbed Sandburg. He's still in the building somewhere."

* * *

  
What was that ripping sound? Blair tried to focus, but it was difficult. His head felt fuzzy. There it was again. A long ripping sound, like someone was tearing fabric. Something was being wrapped around his wrists. Oh god oh no not again. He struggled to swim to consciousness. Sleeping. He'd been sleeping in the chair when he heard someone shout. The door had slammed open and the man was on him. Looming over him, yanking the IV from his hand. He'd tried to get away, tried to struggle, but the cloth was over his mouth and everything had instantly begun to dim. He'd been leaning back in the chair and he couldn't find any leverage to push the huge man off of him. The man hadn't wasted any time, still holding the cloth over his face as he dragged him to the door and out into the hallway. Blair had a vague memory of McKetrick lying on the floor. His face had looked funny, like something was out of place. Where were the other two? There were three men guarding him. Where were the others? The answer came just before he lost consciousness. Detective Brown was pointing a gun at him from far down the hall, shouting at the killer as the elevator doors slid to a close.

Now he was somewhere with the killer. His wrists and ankles were being bound and there was no sign of Detective Brown. They'd lost him again, only this time, Jim wasn't here to find him. This time, the killer was seconds away from beating him to death. Through sheer force of will he opened his eyes and looked at the man. Thick neck, square jaw, short hair. He wouldn't have looked out of place as a bouncer at Club Doom.

"What are you looking at?" The man lifted a meaty fist and brought it down squarely on Blair's jaw.


	10. Chapter 10

McKetrick had been taken down to the emergency room with a broken jaw and a possible skull fracture. Simon was on a rampage. Apparently the young cop had been the only one watching Blair's room when Stafford had abducted Blair. Another screw up and this time it was his men who were responsible. Brown had been down the hall helping a pretty nurse lift a patient into a wheel chair and Rafe had been downstairs feeding his face. Even the damned nurses station had been vacant! They had all been assisting one of the doctors with a cardiac arrest in another patient's room.

Jim pushed all of that conflict out of the way and focused on finding his friend. The green Impala was still out in the parking lot, and the doors were guarded. That meant he was somewhere in the building with Blair. It was a big hospital, but also a busy one. He'd have to take him someplace where he could kill unobserved. The most likely place was the basement. Jim took the stairs two at a time, opening up his senses as he went, not wanting to risk missing his friend if he were somewhere else in the hospital. Simon was right behind him, knowing that if anyone could find him, Jim would. There were already officers checking the basement, but it was a huge, cavernous place and it would take time they didn't have if Jim couldn't locate Blair using his senses.

When he reached the basement, Simon started to speak and Jim motioned him to stop. Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It would be harder this time. Blair hadn't planned on this kidnapping, and there was no cologne trail to follow. Nothing but hospital smells. He didn't have time to sort it out. Sounds would work better in this situation. "Simon, tell all the men down here to stop and be quiet for a minute."

Simon barked out the orders and Jim focused. Pipes rattling. He pushed them away. The low hum of the massive furnaces. Gone. A thousand other creaks and groans removed from his consciousness until he found a low voice. It was far away, talking to someone in a conversational tone, and yet somehow Jim knew it was Stafford. He couldn't make out the words, but he was probably talking to Blair. Explaining why he was about to kill him. Jim started off at a trot, trying to focus on distance and direction. Simon followed him wordlessly and without question.

* * *

"I'm only sorry that I can't kill more of you. Think of how much better off the world would be without puny little runts like yourself in it. You know what you do, don't you? You contaminate the human race. You weaken the gene pool. You certainly don't contribute anything to it." The man finished hoisting Blair to a standing position, tying his hands to the shelves. "You're small. You obviously can't defend yourself. You're weak. Even if you tried to pump up you'd still be weak. You must realize it, because you grow your hair long like a sissy-boy." He adjusted Blair's gag and made sure it was tight. He stood back and looked at his victim. "OK, I think we're ready. I want you to know that I'm only making you suffer because I enjoy it." He smiled wickedly and lifted his fist. At the same time, Blair lifted his legs and kicked forward, pulling the full weight of himself and the shelves onto his attacker.

* * *

  
"Argh!" Jim doubled over, reeling as the sound of screeching metal reached his ears. There wouldn't be any problem finding Blair now. Everyone had heard that one. Jim pulled himself together and ran toward the sound, coming at last to a storage closet with a heavy steel door. He didn't need to try it to know it was locked. He listened closely at the door. Blair was definitely in there with someone. His respiration and heartbeat were racing. The killer's heartbeat was slow and steady. It sounded as if he were either sleeping or unconscious. After that sound, he'd guess the latter. What had Blair done?

Jim motioned quietly at the men who had arrived almost instantly at the sound of the crash. They positioned themselves around the door. He'd have to move fast while the killer was still unconscious. Jim aimed his gun carefully at the lock and fired. Yanking the door open he was greeted with a chaotic sight. Stafford was lying on the floor, blood flowing freely from a wound on his head. Blair was on top of him, wrists tied with white strips of linen to the grey metal shelving that was resting on top of him. His arm was twisted in an awkward position and he appeared to be in pain. Both men were practically buried in the avalanche of sheets that had fallen from the shelves. Jim stowed his gun when he was sure that the other men had Stafford covered and began to untie his friend.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, cop." Stafford mumbled, his words slurring together. "I've got a knife at his ribs."

Blair looked at Jim and nodded his head, eyes glassy with fear and fever. "What do you want, Stafford?"

The man looked toward the door and saw Simon and the other men there with guns drawn. "I want them outta here. Now. You know I have nothing to lose."

Jim nodded at Simon and the men retreated out of Stafford's line of sight. "OK, now what?"

"Move the shelves." He blinked slowly.

The man had a concussion, he would probably lose consciousness soon. Jim needed to slow things down until that happened. "I'm going to need to untie him to do that."

"Just untie him from the shelves, don't untie his wrists. He's not getting any second chances here."

Jim gently removed the piece of sheet and released Blair. As his hands fell free, Jim heard an audible pop. Blair had a dislocated shoulder. Jim hesitated. He'd have to turn his back on Stafford to push the shelves back up, and with Simon out of sight he didn't want to do that.

"Get the shelves off of us now!" The man growled and Jim heard Blair let out a startled exclamation under the gag.

Jim turned and lifted the shelves, getting a grip on them and heaving them as quickly as he could into a standing position. He could hear movement behind him as he did it, and when he turned around, Stafford was holding Blair in front of him as he sat against the wall. The knife was now pressed firmly against Blair's throat. Jim saw a growing red spot on the front of Blair's hospital gown near the waistband of his sweats. The bastard had stabbed him.

"Looks like we've got a standoff here, Stafford. You're in no shape to go anywhere even if we'd let you, so why don't you hand over the knife and we'll get you some medical attention?"

"No way. They'll patch me up, I'll go to trial, I'll get the death sentence. It'll take me a few years to die, but I'll die."

"That's a few years you won't have if my partner dies." Jim kept his voice calm and stared the man straight in the eye.

"I'm doing the world a favor, getting rid of geeks like him."

"How's that?" Jim tried to focus on Stafford and not on the spread of crimson edging across Blair's hospital gown. His eyes had taken on a dull look, and he seemed to be focusing on something far away. He was dying, but Jim couldn't help him until Stafford was neutralized.

"Natural selection. The strong survive, the weak perish. That process has been eliminated in modern society. I decided to help bring it back."

Blair, weak? The man had no concept. Jim reigned in his growing fury. "Not going to make much of a dent, killing two people."

"Ah, but I'll be the inspiration for more like me. They're out there, frustrated by how the weak are taking over our society. They have all the money, all the jobs, all the power..."

"...all the brains?"

At that moment, a sigh escaped Blair's lips and he slumped forward against the knife. Stafford pulled it away before Blair was cut and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back. The moment the knife was away from Blair's throat, Jim lunged, grabbing Stafford's wrist and slamming it against the wall. The big man cried out in surprise and dropped the knife, only to recover and heave himself forward onto Jim, fists flying. Jim felt his head snap back as a fist connected with his chin. He punched the man hard in the throat with all the energy provided by adrenaline and rage. Stafford went down, gasping for air. The room was suddenly full of men, who quickly cuffed Stafford and carted him away. Jim barely noticed as he knelt down next to Blair, who was crumpled on the floor, his complexion blending perfectly with the sheets around him. Gently, he lifted his friend and turned him over, then lifted the front of the hospital gown. There was a deep puncture wound in his stomach and the bleeding hadn't stopped.

Jim grabbed a pillow case and pressed it against the wound to stem the flow, then gathered Blair into his arms and carried him through the basement to the elevators at a dead run. Blair's breathing was shallow and his heartbeat was thready now. He'd lost a lot of blood. As soon as the elevator doors opened on the first floor, Jim began yelling for a doctor. One appeared instantly and Blair was whisked away from him into a room. Jim looked down at his shirt, it was soaked in the dark maroon of Blair's blood. He'd failed his guide again. Rage and frustration welled up in him and he turned, smashing his fist into the wall. The pain barely pierced his anger. Blair's blood was smeared on the wall inside the indentation his fist had caused.

Now there were hands pulling at him, guiding him to a chair. He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. Someone was talking to him, but all he could register was the utter helplessness he felt. Blair was at death's door again, and he shouldn't be. He cursed the senses that allowed him to hear the urgent voices of the doctors and nurses working on his best friend. When Blair went into cardiac arrest, Jim zoned out completely, so lost in anguish that he didn't realize a nurse had cleaned and wrapped his injured hand. Blair's heart beat was restored after several tense minutes and Jim became mesmerized by the strengthening beat.

This man was more connected to him than anyone had ever been. How that had happened was a mystery, but it didn't change the fact of it. Blair was a part of his soul, necessary to his survival, not in any carnal sense but in a deep way, one that was spiritual and emotional. Something that went right into the core of him. The sentinel and the guide. These two people had been bound together since the beginning of time. Entrusted with the protection of their tribes and each other. It had never been more clear. If the connection were broken, if the guide were gone, what would become of the sentinel? They could never operate independently with any degree of success. He saw that now. In allowing Blair to be intentionally imperilled, he had broken some ancient code of sentinel behavior. Now his punishment might well be the loss of his guide.

But he was breathing now. His heartbeat was gaining strength. The doctors were preparing him for surgery. Jim was in a waiting room. He couldn't remember how he got there. His focus had been so intense, he had lost all track of time, centering on the feeling that this was another trial, only this time he had no choice over which path to take. Blair would live or die at the whim of some shadowy spirit guide, some ancient god, whoever was in charge of pulling their strings.

Simon was telling him something about Stafford now. He had died. Jim had punched him in the throat hard enough to crush his larnyx. It was not a surprise, that had been his intent. Military training and survival instincts were hard to shake.

Hot coffee was shoved into his hand, but when he lifted it to his lips it was already cold. His senses were gone now, no taste, no sound, no touch, no smells. Only dim vision. Like when Danny had died only magnified a hundred times, and seemingly indefinite. Blair had tried to convince him that it was emotional stress and grief that had caused him to lose his senses that time, but he had rejected the idea. Something else he'd been wrong about, like so many things. Would Blair's death cause him to lose them permanently? He hoped so, he didn't think he'd want them if his guide were dead.


	11. Chapter 11

"Jim....Jim!" Simon was shaking him now, trying to get him to acknowledge his presence. Jim didn't know if he wanted to be back in this world right now.

"What?"

"Blair is in recovery. He came through the operation with flying colors."

So Simon was going to play that game with him as well. Jim knew the statement for what it was; a well-intentioned lie meant to bring Jim into the present, but as he looked at the doctor, who earlier today had been amused by the excessive concern they'd shown over Blair's condition, he saw only grim resignation. Blair's stomach had been punctured. They'd repaired the damage, but he'd lost so much blood, and in his already weakened condition....

Jim tuned it out again. He'd stay with Blair now, not leave his side until he was well enough to walk out or it was time to bury him. He didn't ask where his friend was, he just found him. Wires and tubes and monitors filled the intensive care unit. Objections were made to his presence, but he didn't budge.

Time became a blur after that. Nurses came and went. Simon brought food for him. A woman he recognized as the department shrink came in and tried to convince him to leave, even going so far as threatening to have him forcibly removed, but eventually she gave up. A day passed without any noticible change in Blair. Jim read to him from the book he'd brought, struggling over words he could neither understand nor pronounce. He allowed himself to be convinced to take a shower and change in a nearby room. A day later, Naomi arrived, full of tears and hope. She stayed with Blair too, and Jim felt some comfort in that. It was as it should be. Blair would want his mother here.

On the third day, Blair stirred, and for the first time Jim began to see light at the end of the tunnel. He was in bad shape. The pain in his stomach was terrible, and the drugs did little to alleviate it. In Blair's rare moments of wakefulness, he would just lie there, dull-eyed from the pain. Sometimes he would sob. Mostly, though, he slept. Slowly his condition began to improve and Blair had more and more periods during which he seemed more like his old self. It would be weeks, maybe even months, before he'd be able to eat solid foods again. Longer than that before he'd be allowed the spicy foods he loved. He was alive, though, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Blair turned to him after his sixth day in the hospital as if noticing him for the first time. "You look like shit, man."

"Thanks. You don't look so hot yourself."

"You've gotta go back to the loft and get a good night's rest. I'm not gonna croak in the next twelve hours, I promise." Jim knew it was a reasonable thing to do, but he couldn't seem to make his body get up and leave. Blair seemed to sense that. "Look man, I know you're worried about me, and I know you feel guilty, but this has got to stop. You're scaring me."

"It's OK, Chief. I just want to make sure you're safe."

"And what are you going to do when they release me from the hospital? I think dates might be a little awkward with you tagging along. Especially if we...if we...you know." He grinned an evil grin.

"I'll just stay here a while longer."

"Jim...." Blair's eyes filled with tears.

"What's wrong?" He stood and sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"After everything that's happened, I really couldn't handle it if you went over the edge. Do you _know_ how close that shrink was to commiting you? Do you know how close they are now? Simon's been keeping his cool so far, but he's losing patience. He's afraid for you." The tears he was trying to suppress leaked out of his eyes and down his cheeks. "I am, too. Please, Jim. Stafford is dead. I'm alive. It's over and we need to move on."

Jim had always prided himself on his self control, but he lost it now. All the fear, anger and pain he'd held in check for the last few days rushed forward like a bursting dam. "I'm sorry, Blair. I knew from the beginning that you shouldn't have been used as bait. I knew this would happen and I didn't try hard enough to stop it."

"How? How could you have stopped it? Lock me in my room? Toss me in the slammer? This was my choice all along. I had a bad feeling about it too, but I ignored my own instincts. It almost got me killed."

"No, Blair. If I'd insisted, if I'd worded it right, I could have stopped you."

Blair brushed the tears away in frustration. "At what cost? If I start to allow you to make my decisions for me, what kind of man will I become? The sidekick everyone already thinks I am? No way, man. I prefer to remain an independent human being."

"Blair, this feeling I had, it was deeper than just cop instinct. It was something more. I didn't just think you'd get hurt, I knew it."

"Like a premonition?" Jim saw a familiar light in Blair's eyes.

"No. I just knew. Like knowing that the sky is blue and today's Tuesday."

"It's Wednesday, Jim. But I see what you mean. This is a sentinel thing, right? Like a sixth sense?"

"I don't know. I just know that if I ever get that feeling again, I'll tie you to a chair in the loft if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

"You won't have to. You tell me when that kicks in and I'll be more than happy to become a hermit until it passes."

Jim felt the corners of his mouth turn up. "OK"

"Are you feeling it now?"

"What?"

"The bad feeling. The sidekick in danger thing. Are you feeling it?"

"No, of course not."

"Then _go home_."

"Blair..."

"Jim, I love you man, but you are getting a tad ripe if you know what I mean. Even mom's been having trouble dealing with it, and you know how she loves to let people be themselves. She's been rethinking that philosophy in the last couple of days."

"I love you too, buddy." Blair looked startled as Jim reached over and grabbed him in a bear hug, but it didn't matter. If he never said the words again, his friend would always know how important he was to Jim. He heard a sob and thought it was Blair, then realized he was the one crying. Jim released Blair and quickly wiped the moisture from his eyes.

"It's gonna be OK, man. You know? I've been in trouble before, I'll probably be in trouble again, but I trust you. More than anyone else. None of what happened was your fault. You tried to warn me. You did everything you could to convince me not to do it. In the end it was my choice, and I made the wrong one. Except maybe it wasn't. Maybe this happened so that we'd know how important it is when you get one of those feelings. There's no way either one of us will ignore them from now on. Maybe I had to come close to dying for you to realize what it meant."

"Sure."

"So go home and get some rest. Please. I need some too, and I haven't been getting much worrying about your mental state."

Jim hadn't realized he'd been causing so much concern, but thinking back he couldn't remember much detail from the last few days. Maybe it was a good idea. "OK." Jim straightened and tried to regain some semblance of his former self. "I'll see you later tonight."

"Jim, it's already 7. I'll see you tomorrow morning, 'kay?"

"OK." Jim had the urge to embrace his friend again, but he settled for a swat on the cheek. "Don't cause any trouble while I'm gone."


	12. Chapter 12

Simon walked down the hospital corridor, dreading what was coming next. He'd have to relieve his best detective of duty if Jim didn't agree to see the department psychiatrist. Jim had been in the grips of a bout of depression worse than he'd ever seen in the man before. He'd been almost catatonic for the first two days after the stabbing, and hadn't come much further out of it since then. As he entered the hospital room, hating the unpleasant duty he was about to perform, he immediately noticed Jim's absence. Naomi was seated cross legged on the chair, meditating. Blair smiled up happily, and Simon knew Jim was gone. "Good work, Sandburg. How'd you do it?"

"We just needed to work some things out. Everything's cool."

"So you think he's all right?"

"He will be, once he gets some rest and eats something. He just had a zone-out and I wasn't there to pull him out of it."

"A zone-out? What's that, honey?" Naomi's eyes opened and she looked at her son curiously.

"Oh, just a word I use for a period of intense concentration. He was focused on me getting well, and he just kind of forgot everything else. You know, he was sending me positive vibes."

Naomi raised an eyebrow, and Simon could tell she didn't believe a word he'd just said. Simon didn't believe him either. Jim hadn't zoned out, he'd had what amounted to an emotional collapse, maybe the sentinel stuff had intensified it, but he was still going to have to see the department shrink on Monday.

"So how are you feeling?"

"Worried."

"About what?"

"Long hospital stays. All of the ones I've had since I started working with Jim. If I miss any more time at the University, I'm going to be released from my position. The number of classes I've missed this year is ludicrous."

"But sweetheart, you were in the hospital. They can't fire you for being hurt. And just exactly how many times have you been in the hospital in the last year?"

Blair looked chagrined. He'd forgotten Naomi was in the room again. "Not many, but enough. And they'll say that my extra-curricular activities are interferring with my job. I may get some sympathy, but I won't get much slack."

"I'll see what I can do for you."

"You, Simon? No offense man, but why would they listen to you?"

Simon snorted. "Because the president of Rainier is a personal friend. If I tell him what an asset and a pleasure it's been having you as a consultant, and how you've been instrumental in saving the lives of Cascade's citizens, I'm sure he'll be able to overlook your absences."

Blair's eyes bugged out of his head. Simon had finally succeeded in impressing the young man. It did his heart good to see the old Blair again. There were still dark smudges under his eyes, and he was too pale and too thin, but he was recovering. That recovery may have saved Jim's life. He didn't have any doubt after Jim's reaction to the stabbing, that if Blair were ever to die in the line of duty, Jim would be changed forever. He'd stood there in the hospital corridor after they'd taken Blair's limp body from him, looking as though he'd been stabbed too. Emotionally as well as physically. Blair's blood had been covering Jim, his clothes and hands were dripping with it. The sight had almost caused Simon to lose it. Taggert had taken one look and retreated to the men's room. Someone told him later that the big man had cried in a bathroom stall for almost twenty minutes.

It was the sight of Jim carrying an unconscious and bloodied Blair, imprinted permanently on the memories of all the men who had seen it, that made them overlook Jim's mental state. If he wanted to sit by Blair's bedside until he came out of it, he had every right to: Sandburg was his partner. If he seemed overly emotional about it, well, it was no wonder. Guilt was ripe among everyone involved, but especially Brown and Rafe. McKettrick had suffered a severe head injury, and there was some doubt about whether he'd ever be completely right again. Captain Jones had been calling the hospital every day since the incident. He'd told Simon that he was considering resigning over the screw up, but Simon had eventually succeeded in talking him out of it. Jim was still going to have to deal with an inquiry into the death of Gerald Stafford, but considering everything that had happened, he didn't think there'd be much objection to his use of lethal force.

If Simon had to admit it, his men weren't the only ones feeling guilty. Jim had barely spoken to him since the whole case started. He knew it wasn't only because of Blair's tentative hold on life that Jim had stared right through him when he'd visited intensive care. Maybe, now that Jim was beginning to shake off this nightmare, their relationship would return to something that passed for normal. It would take time, though. Simon valued Jim's friendship too much to believe that this rift couldn't be repaired.

"Hey Simon, something you want to tell me?"

"Huh?"

"Zone-outs? Do I have another thesis subject on my hands?"

Naomi opened one eye and looked at Blair. Simon was pretty sure she'd have the truth out of him before she left town. "No. Just thinking. You're sure Jim's gonna be OK?"

"Positive. But check on him on your way home, OK? But if he's sleeping don't wake him up."

"Well, now, how am I gonna know that unless he comes to the door so I can ask him?"

"Good point. OK, never mind. I'm sure he's fine, and he needs rest more than company."

Simon said his goodbyes, feeling more certain that things would eventually return to normal. There was still a lot of healing to do, but this time it would work out.

* * *

Blair was almost jumping out of his skin. Two weeks in the hospital was way more than he could handle. Jim had brought his pillow from home, but there was no way he was going to sneak a comfortable mattress in. Those beds gave new meaning to the word hell. He'd finally figured out that it was part of a sinister plot to bring health care costs down. He'd succeeded in convincing the doctor to release him two days early, and if all the patients did that, well... The food was another part of the plot. Jim had been smuggling in baby food, which was no great treat, but still miles better than the non-descript goo the nurses had been trying to feed him. There was still pain in his stomach, but it wasn't unbearable any more. It might never be completely gone, the doc had said. So he had stomach problems to look forward for the rest of his life, but at least he had a life.

Almost everyone from Major Crimes had been in to visit him plus a bunch of the guys from Homicide, bringing flowers and presents and odd magazines they thought he'd like. Joel had smuggled in some pureed ostrich stew, earning Blair's everlasting gratitude. Even Captain Jones, who Blair hadn't seen since the night in the park, dropped by and apologized for everything that had happened. Blair knew what kind of man Jones was, and knew that admitting fault was probably one of the most difficult and painful things he'd ever done.

Jim had slept 20 hours straight when he'd finally gone home to rest, and when he came back, Blair could have sworn nothing had ever happened to the man. Except, everyone once in a while, he'd see something in Jim's eyes that betrayed the pain he'd suffered. Blair felt guilty for that. He'd caused it by refusing Jim's advice. He could tell himself it would never happen again, but not very convincingly. They were both the same people, but maybe they understood and appreciated each other more now. Even the deferential treatment Jim had been giving him was beginning to abate. The man had gone on a tear this morning, cleaning up the hospital room, complaining that Blair had covered every horizontal surface with papers.

"I'm grading tests, man. What am I supposed to do?"

"Grade them one at a time?"

"Yeah, right. You have no concept..."

"No excuses, Chief. And just because you're going to be off of your feet for a few more weeks, doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away with turning the loft into a clone of your office at the university." Jim picked up some papers and tapped them against the table until they were perfectly stacked. "You pick up a piece of paper, you put it back, you get another one..."

"Jim, it doesn't work that way. Give me a break. You make me work like that and I'll go nuts."

"House rules are house rules."

Was that a glint of humor in his eyes. Argh! The man was teasing him again. "You're going to be away at work a lot while I'm recovering, right? Like, I'll have the whole place to myself?"

"Not a chance, Chief. The department shrink thought I needed a couple of weeks off. I would have been on desk duty anyway until after the inquiry, so...."

Blair grinned, a sudden idea popping into his mind. Oh, revenge was sweet! "...so, we'll have plenty of time to work on all the experiments I've been devising to test your senses. I've got this one I've been dying to do. It involves noises that are usually annoying to people with normal hearing. You know, fingernails on a blackboard, rusty hinges...stuff like that."

Jim cringed. "I may have to go to the station to do some paperwork."

"Sure thing, but we'll find a way to work it in."

The nurse came with a wheelchair, putting an end to the discussion. Jim was muttering to himself, and Blair was pretty sure he'd have plenty of time to himself at the loft. He'd been worried that Jim would spend too much time fussing over him, instead of returning to business as usual. Jim seemed all right, outwardly, but Blair knew that no one could get over an emotional trauma like he'd had that quickly. Joel had told him about what had happened, about his condition after he'd been stabbed. It was horrifying. If something like that happened to Jim, Blair would have lost it, too. But Jim was a strong guy, stronger than Blair, and he'd get through this. Everyone at the station was watching out for him, but Jim would still have to see the shrink for a while.

The only thing that Blair really feared was that the over-protectiveness would remain. Jim had always been shielding, but in the days after the stabbing it had become an obsession, and had left Blair feeling claustrophobic. As if to illustrate the point, Jim helped Blair into the wheelchair, and then proceeded to have a heated discussion with the nurse about who was going to push it.

"Hey, take a pill, man! I'll drive it." Blair would just have to figure out some way to make Jim let his protective instincts go.

"Unh-uh, Chief. You're still too weak."

Blair rolled himself out into the long hallway. "Bull. Hey nurse, how do you pop a wheelie in this thing?"

~~The End~~

This was beta'd with great care by the awesome Tigg and Dae.

Feedback (including constructive criticism) welcomed!

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